RIP 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf...£ll-. 

m^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



RIP VAN 
WINKLE 

From The Sketch Book of 
Washington Irving 



X\ 




TWO COPIES RECEIVED 

Published for Will Bradley by 
R. H. RUSSELL, New York. 






Copyright, 18^7, by Will Bradley. 




RIP VAN 
WINKLE 

a l^ositl^ttmow^ mtitin^ of 

By Woden y God of Saxons y 

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thylke day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre. — Cartwright. 

WHOEVER has made a voy- 
age up the Hudson, must 
remember the Kaatskill 
mountains. They are a dis- 
membered branch of the great Appalachian 
family, and are seen away to the west of the 
river, swelling up to a noble height, and 
lording it over the surrounding country. 
Every change of season, every change of 



8 Rip Van Winkle 

weather, indeed every hour of the day, pro- 
duces some change in the magical hues and 
shapes of these mountains; and they are re- 
garded by all the good wives, far and near, 
as perfect barometers. When the weather 
is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue 
and purple, and print their bold outlines on 
the clear evening sky; but sometimes, when 
the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they 
will gather a hood of gray vapours about 
their summits, which, in the last rays of the 
setting sun, will glow and light up like a 
crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the 
voyager may have descried the light smoke 
curling up from the village, whose shingle 
roofs gleam among the trees, just where 
the blue tints of the upland melt away in- 
to the fresh green of the nearer landscape. 
It is a little village of great antiquity, having 
been founded by some of the Dutch colo- 
nists, in the early times of the province, just 
about the beginning of the government of 
the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in 
peace!) and there were some of the houses 
of the original settlers standing within a few 
years, built of small yellow bricks brought 
from Holland, having latticed windows and 
gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. 
In the same village, and in one of these very 
houses (which to tell the precise truth, was 



9 Rip Van Winkle 

sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there 
lived many years since, while the country 
was yet a province of Great Britain, a sim- 
ple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip 
Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the 
Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in 
the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and 
accompanied him to the siege of fort Chris- 
tina. He inherited, however, but little of 
the martial character of his ancestors. I 
have observed that he was a simple good- 
natured man; he was moreover a kind 
neighbour, and an obedient henpecked hus- 
band. Indeed, to the latter circumstance 
might be owing that meekness of spirit 
which gained him such universal popular- 
ity ; for those men are most apt to be obsequi- 
ous and conciliating abroad, who are under 
the discipline of shrews at home. Their 
tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and 
malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic 
tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all 
the sermons in the world for teaching the 
virtues of patience and long-suffering. A 
termagant wife may, therefore, in some re- 
spects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and 
if so. Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. 
Certain it is, that he was a great favorite 
among all the good wives of the village, 
who, as usual with the amiable sex, took 
his part in all family squabbles, and never 



lo Rip Van Winkle 

failed, whenever they talked those matters 
over in their evening gossippings, to lay all 
the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The 
children of the village, too, v^ould shout 
vv^ith joy whenever he approached. He as- 
sisted at their sports, made their playthings, 
taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, 
and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, 
and Indians. Whenever he went dodging 
about the village, he was surrounded by a 
troop of them hanging on his skirts, clam- 
bering on his back, and playing a thousand 
tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog 
would bark at him throughout the neigh- 
bourhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was 
an insuperable aversion to all kinds of pro- 
fitable labour. It could not be from the 
want of assiduity or perseverance; for he 
would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long 
and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all 
day without a murmur, even though he 
should not be encouraged by a single nib- 
ble. He would carry a fowling-piece on 
his shoulder for hours together, trudging 
through woods and swamps, and up hill and 
down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild 
pigeons. He would never refuse to assist 
a neighbour, even in the roughest toil, and 
was a foremost man at all country frolics 
for husking Indian corn or building stone 



II Rip Van Winkle 

fences. The women of the village, too, 
used to employ him to run their errands, 
and do such little odd jobs as their less ob- 
liging husbands would not do for them; — 
in a word. Rip was ready to attend to any- 
body's business but his own; but as to doing 
family duty, and keeping his farm in order, 
he found it impossible. 
In fact, he declared it was of no use to work 
on his farm; it was the most pestilent little 
piece of ground in the whole country; every- 
thing about it went wrong, and would go 
wrong in spite of him. His fences were 
continually falling to pieces; his cow would 
either go astray, or get among the cabbages; 
weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields 
than anywhere else; the rain always made 
a point of setting in just as he had some 
out-door work to do; so that though his 
patrimonial estate had dwindled away under 
his management, acre by acre, until there 
was little more left than a mere patch of 
Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the 
worst conditioned farm in the neighbour- 
hood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild 
as if they belonged to nobody. His son 
Rip, an urchin begotten in his own like- 
ness, promised to inherit the habits, with 
the old clothes of his father. He was gen- 
erally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's 



12 Rip Van Winkle 

heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast- 
ofFgalligaskins, which he had much ado to 
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does 
her train in bad weather. 
Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those 
happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispo- 
sitions, who take the world easy, eat white 
bread or brown, whichever can be got with 
least thought or trouble, and would rather 
starve on a penny than work for a pound. If 
left to himself, he would have whistled life 
away in perfect contentment; but his wife 
kept continually dinning in his ears about 
his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he 
was bringing on his family. 
Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was 
incessantly going, and everything he said or 
did was sure to produce a torrent of house- 
hold eloquence. Rip had but one way of 
replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, 
by frequent use, had grown into a habit. 
He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, 
cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, 
however, always provoked a fresh volley 
from his wife, so that he was fain to draw 
off his forces, and take to the outside of the 
house — the only side which, in truth, be- 
longs to a henpecked husband. 
Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog 
Wolf, who was as much henpecked as his 
master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded 



13 Rip Van Winkle 

them as companions in idleness, and even 
looked upon Wolf with an evil eye as the 
cause of his master's going so often astray. 
True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an 
honorable dog, he was as courageous an 
animal as ever scoured the woods — but 
what courage can withstand the ever-during 
and all-besetting terrorsofa woman's tongue? 
The moment Wolf entered the house, his 
crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, 
or curled between his legs, he sneaked about 
with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong 
glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the 
least flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he 
would fly to the door with yelping precipi- 
tation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van 
Winkle, as years of matrimony rolled on; a 
tart temper never mellows with age, and a 
sharp tongue is the only edge tool that grows 
keener with constant use. For a long while 
he used to console himself, when driven 
from home, by frequenting a kind of perpet- 
ual club of the sages, philosophers, and other 
idle personages of the village, which held 
its sessions on a bench before a small inn, 
designated by a rubicund portrait of his ma- 
jesty George the Third. Here they used 
to sit in the shade, of a long lazy summer's 
day, talking listlessly over village gossip or 
telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. 



14 Rip Van Winkle 

But it would have been worth any states- 
man's money to have heard the profound 
discussions which sometimes took place, 
when by chance an old newspaper fell into 
their hands, from some passing traveller. 
How solemnly they would listen to the 
contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van 
Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learn- 
ed little man, who was not to be daunted 
by the most gigantic word in the diction- 
ary; and how sagely they would deliberate 
upon public events some months after they 
had taken place. 

The opinions of this junta were com- 
pletely controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a pa- 
triarch of the village, and landlord of the 
inn, at the door of which he took his seat 
from morning till night, just moving suffi- 
ciently to avoid the sun, and keep in the 
shade of a large tree; so that the neigh- 
bours could tell the hour by his movements 
as accurately as by a sundial. It is true, 
he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked 
his pipe incessantly. His adherents, how- 
ever (for every great man has his adherents), 
perfectly understood him, and knew how 
to gather his opinions. When anything 
that was read or related displeased him, he 
was observed to smoke his pipe vehement- 
ly, and to send forth short, frequent, and 
angry puffs; but when pleased, he would 



15 Rip Van Winkle 

inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and 
emit it in light and placid clouds, and some- 
times taking the pipe from his mouth, and 
letting the fragrant vapour curl about his 
nose, would gravely nod his head in token 
of perfect approbation. 
From even this strong hold the unlucky 
Rip was at length routed by his termagant 
wife, who would suddenly break in upon 
the tranquillity of the assemblage, and call 
the members all to nought; nor was that 
august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, 
sacred from the daring tongue of this ter- 
rible virago, who charged him outright 
with encouraging her husband in habits of 
idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to de- 
spair, and his only alternative to escape from 
the labor of the farm and the clamor of 
his wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll 
away into the woods. Here he would 
sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, 
and share the contents of his wallet with 
Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a 
fellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor 
Wolf,'' he would say, "thy mistress leads 
thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my 
lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a 
friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag 
his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, 
and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe 



1 6 Rip Van Winkle 

he reciprocated the sentiment with all his 
heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine 
autumnal day. Rip had unconsciously 
scrambled to one of the highest parts of 
the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his 
favorite sport of squirrel-shooting, and the 
still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with 
the reports of his gun. Panting and fa- 
tigued, he threw himself, late in the after- 
noon on a green knoll covered with mountain 
herbage, that crowned the brow of a prec- 
ipice. From an opening between the 
trees, he could overlook all the lower coun- 
try for many a mile of rich woodland. He 
saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, 
far below him, moving on its silent but 
majestic course, with the reflection of a 
purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, 
here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, 
and at last losing itself in the blue highlands. 
On the other side he looked down into a 
deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shag- 
ged, the bottom filled with fragments from 
the impending clifl^s, and scarcely lighted by 
the reflected rays of the setting sun. For 
some time Rip lay musing on this scene; 
evening was gradually advancing; the moun- 
tains began to throw their long blue shadows 
over the valleys; he saw that it would be 
dark long before he could reach the village; 



1 7 Rip Van Winkle 

and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought 
of encountering the terrors of Dame Van 
Winkle. 

As he was about to descend he heard a voice 
from a distance hallooing, "Rip Van Win- 
kle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked around, 
but could see nothing but a crow winging 
its solitary flight across the mountain. He 
thought his fancy must have deceived him, 
and turned again to descend, when he heard 
the same cry ring through the still evening 
air, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" 
— at the same time Wolf bristled up his 
back, and giving a low growl, skulked to 
his master's side, looking fearfully down in- 
to the glen. Rip now felt a vague appre- 
hension stealing over him: he looked 
anxiously in the same direction, and per- 
ceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the 
rocks, and bending under the weight of 
something he carried on his back. He was 
surprised to see any human being in this lone- 
ly and unfrequented place, but supposing it to 
be some one of the neighbourhood in need 
of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 
On nearer approach, he was still more sur- 
prised at the singularity of the stranger's 
appearance. He was a short square built 
old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a 
grizzled beard. His dress was of the an- 
tique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin strap- 



1 8 Rip Van Winkle 

ped round the waist — several pair of breech- 
es, the outer one of ample volume, decorated 
v^ith rows of buttons down the sides, and 
bunches at the knees. He bore on his 
shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of 
liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach 
and assist him with the load. Though 
rather shy and distrustful of this new ac- 
quaintance. Rip complied with his usual 
alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, 
they clambered up a narrow gully, appar- 
ently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. 
As they ascended. Rip every now and then 
heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, 
that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine 
or rather cleft between lofty rocks, toward 
which their rugged path conducted. He 
paused for an instant, but supposing it to be 
the muttering of one of those transient 
thunder-showers which often take place 
in mountain heights, he proceeded. Pass- 
ing through the ravine, they came to a 
hollow, like a small amphitheatre, sur- 
rounded by perpendicular precipices, over 
the brinks of which, impending trees shot 
their branches, so that you only caught 
glimpses of the azure sky, and the bright 
evening cloud. During the whole time, 
Rip and his companion had labored on in 
silence; for though the former marvelled 
greatly what could be the object of carry- 



19 Rip Van Winkle 

ing a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, 
yet there was something strange and incom- 
prehensible about the unknown, that inspir- 
ed awe, and checked familiarity. 
On entering the amphitheatre, new objects 
of wonder presented themselves. On a level 
spot in the center was a company of odd- 
looking personages playing at nine-pins. 
They were dressed in a quaint out-landish 
fashion: some wore short doublets, others 
jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and 
most of them had enormous breeches, of 
similar style with that of the guide's. Their 
visages, too, were peculiar; one had a large 
head, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the 
face of another seemed to consist entirely of 
nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar- 
loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. 
They all had beards, of various shapes and 
colors. There was one who seemed to be 
the commander. He was a stout old gentle- 
man, with a weather-beaten countenance; he 
wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hang- 
er, high-crowned hat and feather, red stock- 
ings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in 
them. The whole group reminded Rip 
of an old Flemish painting, in the parlor 
of Dominie Van Schaick, the village par- 
son, and which had been brought over from 
Holland at the time of the settlement. 
What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was, 



20 Rip Van Winkle 

that though these folks were evidently amus- 
ing themselves, yet they maintained the 
gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, 
and were, withal, the most melancholy party 
ot pleasure he had ever witnessed. Noth- 
ing interrupted the stillness of the scene but 
the noise of the balls, which, whenever they 
were rolled, echoed along the mountains 
like rumbling peals of thunder. 
As Rip and his companion approached 
them, they suddenly desisted from their 
play, and stared at him with such a fixed 
statue- like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, 
lack-lustre countenances, that his heart 
turned within him, and his knees smote to- 
gether. His companion now emptied the 
contents of the keg into large flagons, and 
made signs to him to wait upon the com- 
pany. He obeyed with fear and trembling ; 
they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, 
and then returned to their game. 
By degrees. Rip's awe and apprehension 
subsided. He even ventured, when no eye 
was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, 
which he found had much of the flavor 
of excellent Holland's. He was naturally 
a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to re- 
peat the draught. One taste provoked an- 
other, and he reiterated his visits to the 
flagon so often, that at length his senses 
were overpowered, his eyes swam in his 



21 Rip Van Winkle 

head, his head gradually declined, and he 
fell into a deep sleep. 
On waking, he found himself on the green 
knoll from whence he had first seen the old 
manofthe glen. He rubbed his eyes— it was 
a bright sunny morning. The birds were 
hopping and twittering among the bushes- 
and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breast- 
ing the pure mountain breeze. "Surely," 
thought Rip, "I have not slept here all 
night." He recalled the occurences before 
he fell asleep. The strange man with the keg 
ofliquor— the mountain ravine — the wild 
retreat among the rocks— the woe-begone 
party at nine-pins— the flagon— "Oh! that 
wicked flagon!" thought Rip— "what ex- 
cuses shall I make to Dame Van Winkle? 
He looked round for his gun, but in place 
of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, he 
found an old fire-lock lying by him, the 
barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling 
off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now 
suspected that the grave roysters of the 
mountain had put a trick upon him, and 
having dosed him with liquor, had robbed 
him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappear- 
ed, but he might have strayed away after 
a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after 
him, and shouted his name, but all in vain; 
the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, 
but no dog was to be seen. 



22 Rip Van Winkle 

He determined to revisit the scene of the 
last evening's gambol, and if he met w^ith 
any of the party, to demand his dog and 
gun. As he rose to walk, he found him- 
self stiff in the joints, and wanting in his 
usual activity. "These mountain beds do 
not agree with me, *' thought Rip, "and if 
this frolic should lay me up with a fit of 
the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time 
with Dame Van Winkle.** With some 
difficulty he got down into the glen; he 
found the gully up which he and his 
companion had ascended the preceding 
evening; but to his astonishment a mount- 
ain stream was now foaming down it, 
leaping from rock to rock, and filling the 
glen with babbling murmurs. He, how- 
ever, made shift to scramble up its sides, 
working his toilsome way through thickets, 
of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel; and 
sometimes tripped up or entangled by the 
wild grape vines that twisted their coils and 
tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind 
of network in his path. 
At length he reached to where the ravine 
had opened through the cliffs to the am- 
phitheatre; but no traces of such opening 
remained. The rocks presented a high 
impenetrable wall, over which the torrent 
came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, 
and fell into a broad deep basin, black from 



23 Rip Van Winkle 

the shadows of the surrounding forest. 
Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a 
stand. He again called and whistled after 
his dog; he was only answered by the caw- 
ing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high 
in air about a dry tree that overhung a sun- 
ny precipice; and who, secure in their ele- 
vation, seemed to look down and scoff at 
the poor man's perplexities. What was to 
be done? The morning was passing away, 
and Rip felt famished for want of his 
breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog 
and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but 
it would not do to starve among the mount- 
tains. He shook his head, shouldered the 
rusty firelock, and with a heart full of trou- 
ble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 
As he approached the village, he met a 
number of people, but none whom he 
knew, which somewhat surprised him, for 
he had thought himself acquainted with 
every one in the country round. Their 
dress, too, was of a diflFerent fashion from 
that to which he was accustomed. They 
all stared at him with equal marks of sur- 
prise, and whenever they cast eyes upon 
him, invariably stroked their chins. The 
constant recurrance of this gesture, induced 
Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, 
to his astonishment, he found his beard had 
grown a foot long! 



24 Rip Van Winkle 

He had now entered the skirts of the vil- 
lage. A troop of strange children ran at 
his heels, hooting after him, and pointing 
at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one 
of which he recognized for an old ac- 
quaintance, barked at him as he passed. 
The very village was altered: it was larger 
and more populous. There were rows of 
houses which he had never seen before, 
and those which had been his familiar 
haunts had disappeared. Strange names 
were over the doors — strange faces at the 
windows — everything was strange. His 
mind now misgave him ; he began to doubt 
whether both he and the world around him 
were not bewitched. Surely this was his 
native village, which he had left but a day 
before. There stood the Kaatskill moun- 
ains — there ran the silver Hudson at a 
distance — there was every hill and dale 
precisely as it had always been — -Rip was 
sorely perplexed — "That flagon last night," 
thought he, "has addled my poor head 
sadly!" 

It was with some difficulty that he found 
the way to his own house, which he ap- 
proached with silent awe, expecting every 
moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame 
Van Winkle. He found the house gone 
to decay — the roof fallen in, the windows 
shattered, and the doors oflF the hinges. A 



25 Rip Van Winkle 

half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, 
was skulking about it. Rip called him by 
name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, 
and passed on. This was an unkind cut 
indeed. — "My very dog," sighed poor 
Rip, **has forgotten me!" 
He entered the house, which, to tell the 
truth. Dame Van Winkle had always kept 
in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and 
apparently abandoned. This desolateness 
overcame all his connubial fears — he call- 
ed loudly for his wife and children — the 
lonely chambers rang for a moment with 
his voice, and then all again was silence. 
He now hurried forth, and hastened to his 
old resort, the village inn — but it too was 
gone. A large rickety wooden building 
stood in its place, with great gaping win- 
dows, some of them broken, and mended 
with old hats and petticoats, and over the 
door was painted, "The Union Hotel, by 
Johnathan Doolittle." Instead of the 
great tree that used to shelter the quiet lit- 
tle Dutch inn of yore, there now was rear- 
ed a tall naked pole, with something on 
the top that looked like a red night-cap, 
and from it was fluttering a flag, on which 
was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes 
— all this was strange and incomprehen- 
sible. He recognized on the sign, however, 
the ruby face of King George, under which 



26 Rip Van Winkle 

he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe, 
but even this was singularly metamor- 
phosed. The red coat was changed for 
one of blue and buff, a sword was held in 
the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was 
decorated with a cocked hat, and under- 
neath was painted in large characters. 
General Washington. 
There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about 
the door, but none that Rip recollected. 
The very character of the people seemed 
changed. There was a busy, bustling, dis- 
putatious tone about it, instead of the ac- 
customed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. 
He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas 
Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, 
and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of to- 
bacco smoke, instead of idle speeches; or 
Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling 
forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. 
In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking 
fellow, with his pockets full of hand-bills, 
was haranguing vehemently about rights 
of citizens — election — members of Con- 
gress — liberty — Bunker's hill — heroes of 
seventy-six — and other words that were a 
perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewilder- 
ed Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long griz- 
zled beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his 
uncouth dress, and the army of women 



27 Rip Van Winkle 

and children that had gathered at his heels, 
soon attracted the attention of the tavern 
politicians. They crowded round him, 
eyeing him from head to foot, with great 
curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, 
and drawing him partly aside, inquired, 
"on which side he voted?** Rip stared in 
vacant stupidity. Another short but busy 
little fellow pulled him by the arm, and 
rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "wheth- 
er he was Federal or Democrat." Rip was 
equally at loss to comprehend the question; 
when a knowing, self-important old gentle- 
man, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way 
through the crowd, putting them to the 
right and left with his elbows as he passed, 
and planting himself before Van Winkle, 
with one arm a-kimbo, the other resting 
on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat 
penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, 
demanded in an austere tone, "what brought 
him to the election with a gun on his shoul- 
der, and a mob at his heels, and whether 
he meant to breed a riot in the village?*' 
"Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat 
dismayed, "I am a poor, quiet man, a native 
of the place, and a loyal subject of the King, 
God bless him!" 

Here a general shout burst from the by- 
standers — "a tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! 
hustle him! away with him!** 



28 Rip Van Winkle 

It was with great difficulty that the self- 
important man in the cocked hat restored 
order; and having assumed a tenfold aus- 
terity of brow, demanded again of the un- 
known culprit, what he came there for, and 
whom he was seeking. The poor man hum- 
bly assured him that he meant no harm, but 
merely came there in search of some of his 
neighbors, who used to keep about the 
tavern. 

**Well — who are they? — name them." 
Rip bethought himself a moment, and in- 
quired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?* 
There was a silence for a little while, when 
an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice, 
"Nicholas Vedder? why, he is dead and 
gone these eighteen years! There was a 
wooden tomb-stone in the church-yard that 
used to tell all about him, but that's rotten 
and gone too." 
"Where's Brom Dutcher!" 
"Oh, he went off to the army in the be- 
ginning of the war; some say he was 
killed at the storming of Stony-Point — 
others say he was drowned in the squall, at 
the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know 
— he never came back again." 
"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster.?" 
"He went off to the wars, too; was a great 
militia general, and is now in Congress." 
Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these 



29 Rip Van Winkle 

sad changes in his home and friends, and 
finding himself thus alone in the world. 
Every answer puzzled him, too, by treat- 
ing of such enormous lapses of time, and 
of matters which he could not understand: 
war — Congress — Stony-Point! — he had no 
courage to ask after any more friends, but 
cried out in despair, ''Does nobody here 
know Rip Van Winkle?" 
"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two 
or three. "Oh to be sure! that's Rip Van 
Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree." 
Rip looked, and beheld a precise counter- 
part of himself as he went up the mountain; 
apparently as lazy and certainly as ragged. 
The poor fellow was now completely con- 
founded. He doubted his own identity, 
and whether he was himself or another 
man. In the midst of his bewilderment, 
the man in the cocked hat demanded who 
he was, and what was his name? 
"God knows," exclaimed he at his wit's 
end; Fm not myself — Fm somebody else 
— that's me yonder — no — that's somebody 
else, got into my shoes — I was myself last 
night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, 
and they've changed my gun, and every- 
thing's changed, and I'm changed, and I 
can't tell what's my name, or who I am!" 
The by-standers began now to look at each 
other, nod, wink significantly, and tap their 



30 Rip Van Winkle 

fingers against their foreheads. There was 
a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and 
keeping the old fellow from doing mischief; 
at the very suggestion of which, the self- 
important man with the cocked hat retired 
with some precipitation. At this critical 
moment a fresh comely woman passed 
through the throng to get a peep at the 
gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child 
in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, 
began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, 
"hush, you little fool; the old man won't 
hurt you." The name of the child, the 
air of the mother, the tone of her voice, 
all awakened a train of recollections in his 
mind. 

"What is your name, my good woman?*' 
asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 
"And your father's name?" 
"Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van 
Winkle; it's twenty years since he went 
away from home with his gun, and never 
has been heard of since — his dog came home 
without him; but whether he shot himself, 
or was carried away by the Indians, nobody 
can tell. I was then but a little girl." 
Rip had but one question more to ask; but 
he put it with a faltering voice: 
"Where's your mother?" 
Oh, she too had died but a short time since ; 



31 Rip Van Winkle 

she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion 
at a New-England pedlar. 
There was a drop of comfort, at least, in 
this intelligence. The honest man could 
contain himself no longer. He caught his 
daughter and her child in his arms. " I am 
your father!" cried he — "Young Rip Van 
Winkle once — old Rip Van Winkle now! 
— Does nobody know poor Rip Van Win- 
kle!" 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, 
tottering out from among the crowd, put 
her hand to her brow, and peering under 
it in his face for a moment, exclaimed 
**Sure enough! It is Rip Van Winkle — 
it is himself. Welcome home again, old 
neighbor — Why, where have you been 
these twenty long years?" 
Rip^s story was soon told, for the whole 
twenty years had been to him but as one 
night. The neighbors stared when they 
heard it; some were seen to wink at each 
other, and put their tongues in their cheeks; 
and the self-important man in the cocked 
hat, who, when the alarm was over, had 
returned to the field, screwed down the 
corners of his mouth, and shook his head 
— upon which there was a general shaking 
of the head throughout the assemblage. 
It was determined, however, to take the 
opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was 



32 Rip Van Winkle 

seen slowly advancing up the road. He 
was a descendant of the historian of that 
name, who wrote one of the earliest ac- 
counts of the province. Peter was the most 
ancient inhabitant of the village, and well 
versed in all the wonderful events and tra- 
ditions of the neighborhood. He recol- 
lected Rip at once, and corroborated his 
story in the most satisfactory manner. He 
assured the company that it was a fact, 
handed down from his ancestor the histo- 
rian, that the Kaatskill mountains had 
always been haunted by strange beings. 
That it was affirmed that the great Hen- 
drick Hudson, the first discoverer of the 
river and country, kept a kind of vigil there 
every twenty years, with his crew of the 
Half-moon, being permitted in this way to 
revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep 
a guardian eye upon the river and the great 
city called by his name. That his father 
had once seen them in their old Dutch 
dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of 
the mountain; and that he himself had heard 
one summer afternoon, the sound of their 
balls, like distant peals of thunder. 
To make a long story short, the company 
broke up, and returned to the more impor- 
tant concerns of the election. Rip's daugh- 
ter took him home to live with her ; she 
had a snug, well-furnished house, and a 



33 Rip Van Winkle 

stout cheery farmer for a husband, whom 
Rip recollected for one of the urchins that 
used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's 
son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, 
seen leaning against the tree, he was em- 
ployed to work on the farm, but evinced a 
hereditary disposition to attend to anything 
else but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; 
he soon found many of his former cronies, 
though all rather the worse for the wear 
and tear of time; and preferred making 
friends among the rising generation, with 
whom he soon grow into great favor 
Having nothing to do at home, and being 
arrived at that happy age when a man can 
do nothing with impunity, he took his 
place once more on the bench, at the inn 
door, and was reverenced as one of the 
patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of 
the old times "before the war/' It was 
some time before he could get into the reg- 
ular track of gossip, or could be made to 
comprehend the strange events that had 
taken place during his torpor. How that 
there had been a revolutionary war — that 
the country had thrown off the yoke of 
old England — and that, instead of being a 
subject of his majesty George the Third, 
he was now a free citizen of the United 
States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; 



34 Rip Van Winkle 

the changes of states and empires made but 
little impression on him ; but there was one 
species of despotism under which he had 
long groaned, and that was — petticoat gov- 
ernment. Happily, that was at an end; 
he had got his neck out of the yoke of 
matrimony, and could go in and out when- 
ever he pleased, without dreading the 
tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever 
her name was mentioned, however, he shook 
his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast 
up his eyes; which might pass either for 
an expression of resignation to his fate, or 
joy at his deliverance. 
He used to tell his story to every stranger 
that arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He 
was observed, at first, to vary on some points 
every time he told it, which was doubtless 
owing to his having so recently awaked. It 
at last settled down precisely to the tale I 
have related, and not a man, woman, or 
child in the neighborhood, but knew it by 
heart. Some always pretended to doubt 
the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had 
been out of his head, and that this was one 
point on which he always remained flighty. 
The old Dutch inhabitants, however, al- 
most universally gave it full credit. Even 
to this day, they never hear a thunder- 
storm of a summer afternoon about the 
Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson 



35 Rip Van Winkle 

and his crew are at their game of nine-pins: 
and it is a common wish of all henpecked 
husbands in the neighborhood, when life 
hangs heavy on their hands, that they might 
have a quieting draught out of Rip Van 
Winkle's flagon. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. PRINTED BY WILL BRADLEY AT THE WAYSIDE 
PRESS, SPRINGFIELD, MASS., U. S. A., IN NOVEMBER, MDCCCXCVII 



